A Promise: A short Short-Story.

{I am in this bus and a conversation between a daughter and her father triggered this thought. Couldn’t wait to turn it into a story and make it into a post. It’d a bit crude, but sure as hell, beautiful.}

It happens so. . .

She never doubted it: she is the most important thing in her father’s life. He never uttered a word on her. When she couldn’t do a work properly, her mother would scold her, but her father never did. He used to take her into his lap, he would caress her pretty face, he used to apologize for her mother’s harsh words and then, he would explain how she could have done the work in an easy manner, such that even her mother wouldn’t loose her temper. Her dad is a such a sweet man, and she knows the depths of his heart. He never held a cell phone around her; he’d spend time in silence rather than being distracted when she is around. He would talk to his wife very sensibly. He’d never condemn his wife before his daughter even though he sometimes felt his wife is too strict for the little girl. He’d always hold his wife up at his daughter and used to say that she should be as good person as her mother. But she didn’t believe so. Deep in her heart, she used to strongly believe that her father loves her and cares her more than anyone, more than even her mother.

Her father was a middle aged man. He was a teacher. A peaceful man who would not loose his patience easily. She wonders if he had ever lost it. Ever since she knew, she never saw his father curse or scold someone. Keeping someone aside, not her, never. She’d wait for her father to return home and as soon as she hears the bike running towards her house, she runs out to open the gate and she asks her father to wash his legs before coming inside the house. Her father said so, to clean her legs and she wants to show she behaves just like her father. Her father would ruffle her hair with a smile and if he was in a very good mood, he’d bend down to kiss her cheek. There’s no special gift for her than the kiss of her father’s. She’d jump all around him telling him everything that had happened that day and probe him to tell how his day was. When her mother was not around, she’d innocently complain of her mother scolding her. He’d smile and he’d laugh if it is very petty. He used to do so to make her feel it is a small thing and she used to understand. He used to try to explain her that scolding her is for her own good. She used to ask, if so, why he wouldn’t scold her himself. He would think for a while and tell her in a very low tone, “it takes a really brave heart to scold one’s own child,” she would nod her head and ask again, “are you not brave, daddy?” He would shake his head and say, “No Keethu, not as brave as your mommy.”

Later, they would watch a good movie or any of Keethu’s cartoon show. She would blabber about the cartoon they were watching. She would tell the biography of the cartoons in her senseless words. Her father used to listen intently and sometimes ask her a few doubts, but her mother used to mumble not to eat her father’s head. Keethu strongly believes her father loves the stories she tells him and yes, he does love.

One day, when Keethu was almost 16, her father, mother and herself were on a dining table. The day before, Keethu had a bizarre dream in which her father abandoned her for something else, but didn’t understand what that was. The dream disturbed her. She thought of so many things. Her father was never after riches or luxury, so nothing of this world can make him leave her. He is not too religious or spiritual to abandon the world and seek seclusion. Then the thought occured. She hesitated, but got herself ready and asked, “Daddy,” she said, and he was eating his idly as seriously as he was practicing for Olympics. He said, “yeah.” Waiting for a moment, she asked “whom do you love more? Me or mommy?” Immediately he fell in a fits of laughter in surprise but her mother was badly shocked.
She opened her mouth to scold Keethu, but he stopped her. He asked Keethu controlling his laugh, “why did you get that doubt, Keethu?”
She shrugged, “I don’t know, I want to know.”
He looked at his wife. She was watching him with a bent face. It almost felt like she was threatening. He wondered if it was jelousy on her face. He looked back at his daughter, “I love you more than anyone,” he said, and Keethu’s face was in delight. “More than anyone,” he looked back at his wife. Her eyes were gleamy. They were filled with water. But then, he smiled. “But,” he said, looking at Keethu again, “I wouldn’t live a day without your mother,” he tried to extend his hand on the table to hold his wife’s palm, “not even a day without her.”
But his wife didn’t let him hold her hand. She stormed into their bed room and she looked as if she almost broke out into crying when she was entering the room.
Keethu and her father were at the table, he shrugged looking at her, and said, “that’s a promise: not a single day,” and left the table, following his wife into the room.
From the little opening of the door, she saw her father trying to console her mother. That was a beautiful moment and she loved it for some unknown reason.

This day, after six years, she feels stupid for asking such a question. A week ago her mother died in an accident. Her father was a man of promise. The night he slept weeping, and yes, ‘not a day’ did he live without her. He just left his life in sleep. Crying over her dead parents, she realised: She, as a daughter could be his father’s love, but only his wife, her mother can be his life. Then weeping over her father’s body, she’d cry, “yes daddy, you are not brave. No.”

Advertisements

11 Comments Add yours

  1. Lavanya says:

    Oh my god this is so pretty! This story really bleeds enchantment with every syllable! Followed your blog just for this!

    Like

  2. Lavanya says:

    This is so pretty! I loved it! This story literally bleeds enchantment with every passing syllable! Following you blog

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Lavanya says:

      Following your blog just for this xx

      Liked by 1 person

      1. I'm Indra says:

        I just wanted to ask… What does “xx” mean..?

        Liked by 1 person

      2. Lavanya says:

        Oh, they usually wrote “xx” at the end of messages as a symbol of love/friendship 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

      3. I'm Indra says:

        Yeah…? Thank you so much xx..

        Liked by 1 person

    2. I'm Indra says:

      Thank you so much… I’ll get to yours soon. I’m glad you liked it.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. Sudha Bhargavi N says:

    Nice one… really heart touching

    Like

  4. Sudha Bhargavi N says:

    Nice one… really heart touching

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s